The Enigma That Is Eliza Grey
by At Loose Ends
Summary: Eliza Grey is well-versed in the art of infuriating people. But, when she happens to cross paths with a man more infuriating than herself; a battle of wits, lies and seduction ensues... Set during 'A Study In Pink' and onwards- Sherlock/OC Watson/OC


**If you have any questions, queries or ideas for the story, please feel free to PM me (Spam NOT welcome). Anyway, enjoy everyone ...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, nor the plot or characters within it- apart from my own OC's.**

* * *

This certainly _wasn't_ where she wanted to be.

If it weren't for the restaurants exquisite food and a certain unavoidable debt to a friend, Eliza would have taken the next cab home. But, being the type of person that she was, it didn't feel right for her to betray a friendship that had lasted through years of fluctuation. Though, after spending a half minute with the narcissistic male seated opposite her, Eliza vowed never to help out a friend again. To occupy the time she had decided _not_ to waste in striking up a conversation, she surveyed the dimly lit restaurant with pretend interest, avoiding the laborious tasks of 'chit-chat' and 'small talk'; things she never really liked. Her intended procrastination, though, soon came to an end,

"So … err … Eliza was it?"

She half looked towards the narcissist; an unenthusiastically bored expression upon her face. He wasn't even paying full attention to her in turn, occasionally glancing at passing waitresses; a cocky grin curling the corners of his mouth,

"Yes?"

She cast her eyes back down towards the conveniently placed menu; said menu that had failed it's duty in enabling her to avoid engaging in social interaction,

"What is it that you do? … Your occupation, I mean?"

"I'm currently unemployed"

"Sorry to hear that. What with the current climate and all … I'm, ah, sure an opportunity shall arise"

The false sympathy was almost touching. His covert eyes roamed her briefly, hinting his unspoken intentions; as if she were like all the other floozy women he'd taken to his bed. Eliza ignored his wandering gaze and faked a convincing smile,

"Hopefully"

Alice (said friend she was indebted to) was seated to her left; tittering away like some vapid schoolgirl at her dates attempt at a joke. Picking up on the tension between Eliza and the blind date, Alice interjected,

"So Warren-"Ah yes, that's what the narcissist was called, "- I've been informed that you have quite a fine collection of art on your hands? Isn't that interesting, Eliza?"

The woman in question nodded absentmindedly; re-reading the specials upon the menu,

"Interesting indeed …"

Alice nudged her, rather harshly, in the ribs. Eliza knew what that meant; it was a 'Please be nice, for my sake' kind of prod, and it unfortunately won her over,

"Um, what I meant to say was that it is indeed interesting to find someone with such an extensive collection of art these days; considering their exorbitant prices and all…"

Alice gave her a small nod in praise, letting Eliza know that her answer was sufficient; to which she returned with a glare equivalent to the finger. However, now that the topic was directed upon him, Warren in turn directed his attention back to the table, and therefore, to Eliza; his grin broadening,

"I haven't been collecting for that long, you know. It was only when I began my work at the gallery, did my interest in art make itself known. I was actually invited to a venue beforehand, that's where I met-"

She soon drowned out the sound of his egoistic voice; the evening a bit more pleasant without his words offending her ears.

The evening continued in such a fashion; periods of awkward silence followed by forced conversation- his eyes slithering over her form every so often,

That was, until the desserts arrived.

* * *

"So, Eliza, Alice told me that you have Bachelor's Degrees in Psychology and Criminology. I must say, I'm impressed.'

She unwantedly stilled; spoon about to divulge into the tempting depths of her chocolate soufflé. If there was one thing she hated, it was being interrupted while eating dessert,

"Thank you; your approbation has been noted."

Warren reclined in his seat, with a twitch of the lips and a tightening of the eyes. Eliza could tell he thought her frustrating, prudish, maybe playing hard to get; but it didn't matter to her. He was a boy, hiding behind a guise of a man; something she had had enough dealings with to recognise. Turning to Alice, she noticed her friend's genuine smiles and jovial character. Sometimes Eliza wished she could shut off the part of her that has to analyse everything, and just _be_ for a while, like Alice; if only. She was about to focus back on her dessert, when he spoke up again. This time, however, he leaned in close; far too close for her liking,

"I'm not too keen on this Crème brulee. How about we go back to my apartment, so I can have you for dessert instead?"

Observing the alarmed expression upon her face and the faint blushing of her cheeks, Warren leaned back; a self-satisfied smirk spread across his lips. Eliza's eyes flicked to Alice for a mere moment, silently apologising to her friend for what was about to come. Shifting her attention back to Warren, Eliza ignored her soufflé; discarding the spoon in her hand, before straightening out her attire and proceeded to answer his question,

"There's bruising on your wrists, three-four days old, only made by something tight; the strong grip of another hand perhaps- No, the bruising is too defined. It could have been the lead of a dog, but there are no traces of animal hair below or above the knee; or on your person at all. Manual labour, maybe; however, due to your lifestyle- the fashion in which you dress and your recently manicured nails, I believe that theory is off the table. Maybe some form of constraint; … rope perhaps."

One corner of her mouth creeping into a half smirk. By this point all conversation on the table had ceased. However, she ensued,

"And then there's the fact that you've been to the restroom twice in the past hour to fix your appearance, and that's your fourth glass of red wine; 'Amarone Della Valpolicella', strong stuff for a blind date. Judging by the way you've been gulping it down and that you've tried to conceal the shaking of your hands since the minute I met you, I can conclude you'll be drinking more than those four glasses tonight. Now, considering, your … _romantic_ proposal and those eight leers at passing waitresses, my best guess is that you're an alcoholic, masochist, narcissistic satyr."

Eliza paused,"… but who am I to judge?"

Grinning, she watched amusedly at Warren's flustered, appalled and highly uncomfortable state. It was satisfying moments such as these, that gave her pleasure in the dull cycle of life,

"So, in answer to your question; No thanks … I'm not on the menu."

Before Alice could scold Eliza for the outburst, she rose from the table, put on her jacket, snatched up her bag and exited the restaurant;

Unfortunately, she didn't get far.

Furious hands gripped at her shoulders, forcing her to turn. Expecting to see Alice's irate face, Eliza was startled to see an enraged Warren; teeth bared and nostrils flared,

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're playing at? Embarrassing me like that in front of all those people!"

With each word his face tightened. Playing it smart, Eliza kept her mouth shut,

"Who told you all those things about me, _huh_?"

He was shaking her now; violently twisting her to and fro,

"Tell me, you fucking _bitch_!"

A harsh cough interrupted the pair. Both eyes turning sharply to find two men aside them; one lanky with an angular face half concealed by dark brown curls, dressed up in a winter trench coat, a blue woollen scarf around his neck- the other; a shorter man with greying hair, wrapped in a black 'shooting' jacket, an angered look upon his face. The taller of the duo took a step forward, addressing Warren,

"It would be a wise decision, on your behalf, to let the young lady go. Unless you wish to cause yourself further embarrassment, I suggest you do so"

Eying the forming crowd of people, Warren unhappily complied,

"… Fine"

Still relatively pissed off, he released his grip on Eliza with a shove, nearly sending her into the road and towards the path of an oncoming cab. Arms successfully latched onto her; pulling her back from such a fate. Managing to regain her footing, with the help of the shorter gentleman, Eliza dusted herself off; glowering at the asinine male in front of her,

"Oops …"

His reply, laced with the same smug smirk. However, this time, she intended to wipe it off. With nothing but incensed fury and contempt pumping through her, Eliza's fist collided into Warren's unsuspecting jaw, relaying a force she didn't know she possessed; but hey, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Passing people kindly offered him assistance as he tried to hold onto his already swelling jowl, whilst attempting to rise from the pavement bellow; their offers were rudely turned down. With a final sneer and a string of sexist profanities, Warren scurried off into the night's flurry of city goers- keeping what little dignity he had left intact. Through the diffusing crowd, Eliza could see Alice, hastily striding towards her; her date nowhere to be seen,

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

Cringing at the shrill sound of her friend's voice, Eliza rolled her eyes; this was going to be a _fun_ conversation,

"Can you not go a few hours without getting yourself into some form of-"

She was cut off by Eliza, who was bending down, relatively nonchalant, as she gathered her belongings off the concrete; helped by the man in the 'shooting' jacket, though, it was made difficult by the aching of her hand,

"Stop being so melodramatic, I'm fine by the way; just in case you were wondering"

Alice laughed sarcastically; running a shaky hand through her hair,

"One of these days you're going to get yourself killed when you do that- that... _thing_ you do, and I don't want to be the one to say, 'I told you so'"

Noticing the two men aiding her; or rather, the one man aiding, the other standing there, an unreadable expression upon his face, Alice though it best to introduce herself and thank the pair for saving her idiotic friend,

"I'm Alice. I believe you both helped my friend get out of this situation; you have my gratitude"

The taller male didn't answer. The other though, stuck out his hand in greeting,

"No problem; just doing my duty. I'm John, John Watson, and this is …"

He trailed off looking at his companion,

"… This is Sherlock Holmes; he's not so good with social protocol"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John; unimpressed with his companions statement. Fixing his scarf, and repositioning his gloves, he attempted to leave the situation,

"Right, well, nice to meet you Amy, wish we could stay and chat, but me and Dr. Watson here have some business to attend to, now if you don't min-"

"Oh, for God's sake Sherlock..." though attempting to stay hushed, John couldn't seem to control his words, "...Stop being a such a prick, and just accept the woman's thanks."

He gave him a stern look, like a parent would a naughty child; Sherlock didn't like it, not one bit. John let him be, but not before adding, "... and it's Alice, not Amy."

With all her personal effects back where they belong, Eliza stood beside her friend and likewise, expressed her appreciation,

"Yes, well, um … thanks a bunch."

She stuck her hand out towards John, who looked at her oddly, however placed his hand in hers and returned the shake. Her eyes examined his form, posture, expressions; everything about him. It was unintended of course, Eliza couldn't help it; the man had saved her life after all- To be intrigued was only natural. Releasing his grip, the word vomit, however, ensued,

"So, John, did you fight in Iraq or Afghanistan?"

The man in question shared a bemused look with his counterpart; the one called Sherlock Holmes. However, the taller man's face was shaped into less of a stunned gawp, and more into fascinated scrutiny. Before either could answer, Eliza received a smack on the shoulder from her friend she had seemingly forgotten about and was now painfully reminded of,

"These gentlemen helped save your ungrateful ass; stop analysing them."

"I can help it, you know that; I get curious and it just … _pops_ out"

Giving a sigh in exasperation, Eliza grumbled an apology to the duo. She was about to turn to leave, when the shorter man piped up,

"How did you know?"

"Pardon?"

"How did you know that I was a solider?"

She smiled,

"I didn't know that you_ were_; I just knew that you _are_. But, thanks for the extra information."

Twisting on her heels she continued to leave with her friend, but was halted. This time it was the Sherlock Holmes fellow who had ceased her departure; his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. His face held the same question his companion's did. Addressing John, she reiterated her initial observation,

"You said 'just doing my duty'; you could have said 'just helping out' or 'just being a gentleman', but you didn't. Though, you could be in the police force, however, you held back when Warren was harassing me, suggesting that you're more objective, tactical; not the kind of man to jump into a situation without assessing it first; unlike most cops. And then there's your attire, clean cut, well-dressed, but slightly outdated; telling me you either prefer to dress this way or that you haven't had the need to keep up to date with recent men's wear. You stand resolute, strong and alert; a common feature of most men who have been in any line of service. Furthermore, your reflexes when catching me were automatic, something that could have only been developed over time; the reaction of someone with intense training who needed to be that quick. There's also the faint tan line on your wrists and neck; you've been abroad, but not sunbathing, suggesting it was for business and not pleasure."

Clapping her hand together with a shrug of the shoulders, Eliza tilted her head to the side as she watched John's reaction,

"So, Iraq or Afghanistan?"

His response was certainly not what she had anticipated,

"Good lord, there's two of you!"

His answer was obviously directed at Sherlock; the meaning hazy to her, so she took a guess,

"You can deduce aspects about others also?"

Eliza's expression turned sour as she stared up at Sherlock,

"And here I was, thinking I'm one of a kind; shame …"

He smirked, eyes scanning her; assessing her every move. She was watching him also, however, for an entirely different reason; her mind more focussed on his alluring visage,

"Sorry to disappoint."

The words were said with false emotion and retained a sense of arrogance, as if he thought himself better than her. It was the spark that fuelled the fire, and she would take pleasure in watching him burn,

"Prove it?"

He looked at her quizzically,

"Prove what, exactly?"

She rolled her eyes,

"That you're skilled in the art of deduction, Mr. Holmes, or, shall you disappoint once more..."

Eliza gestured for him to proceed, as if he were merely a performing monkey. His eyes narrowed at her request, not liking the way she made him sound inept, amateurish; it was off-putting and discourteous. However, it was a challenge he would gladly rise to in order to show her who was the expert, and who was the amateur,

"Very well then, you're of Irish heritage; hinted by the slight accent in your speech and from a wealthy back ground, judging by your attire. But you're recently unemployed, hence the reason why your dress is a few years old; going by the slight fraying on the hem. This also tells me that you don't depend on your family for money; preferring not to need the help of others. You're well-spoken and dressed presentably, so along with your wealthy background I can assume you went to a private school and then to university. However, your deductions are stated more factually and lack depth, meaning you learned to deduce through the teachings of another, at university perhaps; if so, then I can assume you have degrees in Psychology and Sociology- relevant subjects that incorporate the use of deduction. You're right handed, due to the imprudent punch you landed on that brainlessly obtuse male. Yet, you are not concerned by the obvious pain such an impact must have caused you. This tells me you have also had some form of combat training, allowing you to manage the pain; physically and mentally. You're close with your sister but not with your mother; the photo in your purse- suggested through your proxemics- propose this, as you have distanced yourself away from the woman. In addition, while you collected your belongings from the pavement, I noticed you don't have any receipts, lint or makeup in your bag, telling me you're organised and methodical; you separate your work and social life. However, you do have a collection of pens from various estate agents in the London area; you're looking for accommodation, but not turning to your friend or sister for housing. Which tells me you're still own living space, and so, are soon to be evicted; possible due to your recent unemployment. Speaking of which, from your past degrees I can presume you were some form of psychiatrist or therapist; someone of a certain authority and status; giving you the control you require. But, you lack the concern and empathy needed for such a job, and were therefore fired; the severance agreement in your bag proves this."

Placing his gloved hands into the pockets of his fitted coat, Sherlock detailed Eliza's displeased manner and her friends openly astounded expression. He had won. To watch her narked state was a fitting and worthy prize,

"Was that proof enough?"

She grumbled,

"Indeed…"

However, her exasperated expression soon turned into a grin that perplexed him for a mere moment, before it all clicked into place. It was John, who spoke up this time; also comprehending her sudden luminous features,

"He got something wrong didn't he? He always does, you know."

Sherlock snapped at John,

"Oh, do shut up."

Facing Eliza once more, he confronted her with the inevitable question,

"As much as I hate to admit it, John's right; there's always something, so... what was it?"

Her expressing darkened into something more provocative. Well, she thought, If he's willing to play the game, then he's going to have to work harder to get the answers he want's. With a seductive smile, Eliza whistled for a cab; moving to the side to allow Alice to step into the vehicle first. But, before she entered she couldn't help but tease him some more,

"Now, where's the fun in telling you that."

She sent a sly wink in his direction, before disappearing into the cab.

* * *

As Eliza watched the nightlife go by through the tinted windows, whispering a silent promise,

"Until next time, Mr. Holmes"

And there would be a next time; she would make sure of it.


End file.
